“And if Mutex continues with his old modus operandi, and shows up to kill the next sorcerer?”
“Then we try to kill him first,” Marla said. “Sort of like what we had in mind with Bethany, only preferably without the betrayal.”
Rondeau shook his head. “We should have a plan. That’s your line, I know, but it’s true. We can’t keep rushing in. Those frogs almost killed you last time.”
“Didn’t somebody say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing in the same way over and over and expecting a different outcome?” B said.
“Yeah,” Marla said. “It’s a Chinese proverb. Which reminds me that I do have a plan, but it’s rather dependent on my getting in touch with Ch’ang Hao, who doesn’t seem to be answering his snake-o-gram. He struck me as an honorable guy—”
“God,” Rondeau said.
“—honorable god, but I’m beginning to think he’s skipped for parts unknown, and that the whole calling-him-with-a-snake thing was a load of crap. In which case…yeah, a new plan would be good. But it’s worth noting that we’re not doing the same thing, not exactly. I fought Mutex back there, and wounded him. He’s lost a lot of steam. It wore me out, too, but I’m betting he’s worse off. We’ve got a chance, especially if he crawls off somewhere to recuperate, and we find time to organize some resistance. So let’s see who’s next in line to rule the city and get their heart cut out.” She took out the printout, opened it, read, and grimaced. “Naturally,” she said. “Who else would it be? This…complicates matters. Mutex and I might actually have a common cause, here.”
“Who is it?” Rondeau said.
“The Chinese guy,” she said. “If he lost his heart, I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it.”
Rondeau took her arm and tugged her aside for a semblance of privacy. “You can’t just let him die,” he said.
Marla didn’t answer. She could just let him die, of course. It would probably save her a little grief farther down the line.
“If the Chinese guy did steal his apprentice’s body, then Mutex is going to kill the apprentice, not the sorcerer. She doesn’t deserve to die, Marla.”
“Death hasn’t been limiting itself to those most deserving, in case you hadn’t noticed,” she said. She sighed. Clearly, this meant a lot to Rondeau, and maybe the Celestial would calm down when he realized they had a common enemy. It wasn’t likely, but it was worth a try. “But, yeah, of course, I’ll try to stop him. Come on, guys. Let’s go into the house of my enemy.”
“This is it,” Marla said. The street outside the hidden magic shop was just as crowded now as it had been yesterday, but today she was a lot more worried about surveillance, so she wasn’t willing to just dash into thin air. Marla muttered a brief diagnostic spell, which made the entry to the shop glow red in her vision, but revealed no magical traps. Of course, the Chinese sorcerer could have strewn bear traps on the floor beyond, and she wouldn’t be able to sense those or any other mundane dangers, but since this was ostensibly a place of business, she doubted he’d set hazards that might catch paying customers. “You two, come close.” B and Rondeau flanked her, their shoulders almost touching hers, and she scooped a handful of yellowish powder from one of the side pockets of her bag. She rubbed her hands together, yellow dust puffing around them, and sang a brief snatch of pure melody. It wasn’t much, just a look-away spell to keep anyone from seeing them disappear, but she had to get it just right to affect a street full of people without accidentally striking anyone blind. When she felt the spell take hold—it was a sensation of temporary but welcome stability, like finding a good handhold while scaling up the side of a building—she grabbed B’s and Rondeau’s hands and dragged them toward the door, into the shop, one of the many enemy territories she’d developed over the course of the past two days.
The neat shop, with its blend of modern and traditional elements, looked like the victim of a highly localized earthquake. Shelves were tumbled, glass shattered on the floor, herbs strewn everywhere, puddles of rare oils congealed on the floor. The long counter at the back of the shop was fire-blackened in places, part of its length bent and broken.
“I guess Mutex beat us here,” B said. “Unless it’s supposed to look like this?”
“No, it’s not supposed to look like this,” Marla said. “But I don’t think Mutex beat us here, either, not after the pounding I gave him. This kind of destruction wasn’t his MO at Dalton’s, either—he was in and out, quick.”